Unbroken, Not Undead
by Galen Devereaux
Summary: A ragtag team of teens bands together in the fallout of a plague that decimated the globe, leaving only a low population, ruined civilizations, expiring resources, and not a lot of anything else. (All OC'S, Some Cameos From Both Walking Dead Comics and TV Series characters are included. Rating may change. T for now.
1. Shock

_Eva's POV_

_The feel of the bloody knife in my hand is like no other. My parent's scarlet gore splattered on my clothes. My hand grips down hard on the slippery handle of the blade as I watch my mother's head twist and begin to growl with her mangled throat, a sense of danger emanating from her that reaches into a part of me, that is primal and kept me alive this long, hopefully longer. She-no it- stumbles toward me on unsteady feet. I look at her, sucking in every last detail, so that I can gain strength form such a horrid sight, when I have to inevitably do this again, and raise the cleaver for another time, feeling no remorse._

1 DAY EARLIER

After a dream just bursting with humiliation and hate (the _entire _sophomore class has seen my taco-themed boxers), I wake up full of bad vibes. Groaning in anticipation of a new week of high school, I kick of my bedspread-also taco-themed- and stand up, heading for the shower. I strip and enter the warm stream of water, sighing as it melts away all my anxieties and worries.

I love these new eco-friendly showerheads my mom purchased. She always buys random stuff for no reason. I ask for a dog at Christmas time, I get a circus rat that bites me at least twelve times before helping itself to some leftover eggnog in my mom's coffee mug. Oh well. I get out and dry myself off, glancing ate mirror on the way out. Long, wavy brown hair, button nose, and a pair of stormy gray irises. I know I'm not ugly, but I wouldn't call myself a looker, either. My eyes match the cloudy weather that has recently been hanging over Troy, Florida.

I've lived in this house for years, even after my little brother was killed in a… let's say structural incident. I go to my room and dry off, then look over my closet for my outfit of the day. I decide on a navy blue tee, with a plain black leather jacket, opting for dark wash skinny jeans, a dark belt and pitch-colored leather boots. I reach into my drawer and grab my small Gerber DMF Tanto folding knife, along with a mini sharpener and slip both into my pocket. Just in case, you know? I pack my stuff in a black and pink drawstring bag, but fall flat on my face for no reason going out the door. Welcome to the life of Eva Bloom. God I hate Mondays.

I decide to sit and read for a bit, pulling out _How To Kill A Mockingbird. _This is one of my favorite past-times, reading. I have only just begun to become mesmerized into Harper Lee's world of Southern mystery and a breakfast bar, when my phone buzzes, causing me to grin in realization of the texts' author. Eris Paige, my wild many-colored hair best friend since preschool, when she kicked Ryan Dennis in the balls for taking my panda hat. He never bothered us again. I always loved her, and she comes up with new get-rich quick schemes, and out of this world pranks for us to commit to instead of Ms. Harrison's homework in 3rd hour all the time. She's smart, but rarely applies herself in school. Her only match for my affections is Evan Morse, a quiet but strong boy, who was in our grade, before moving to Wyoming with his grandparents. We still face chat, text and call every week. He said he would be visiting soon. I read it, my smiling face contorting to one of confusion. _STAY INSIDE, THE PHONE LINES ARE GOING CRAZY, GET YOUR MOM AND DAD NOW! _What? Why should I stay inside? We have to go to school, and my mom's still asleep. Just as I start to call for my Mother, I hear the moans, screams, and gunfire. The first of many.

I rush to the window, my mouth widening in shock as I register the images and sounds before me. Bloodcurdling screams as people are devoured, blood gushing everywhere and staining clothes, the ground and cars, as some sort of cannibals start downing any and all nearby persons, by chomping into their flesh. What the hell is wrong with these crazies? Are they all under some demonic influence? A new illegal medication? Ridiculous, but what else could this be? I start praying that this is some big prank, on a show akin to Scare Tactics, but then remember that I don't believe in any god. Only with what I can see with my own two eyes. That's what I need to do now. So I force myself to study the scene around me, taking in the entirety of situation.

I quickly notice that these cannibalistic creeps don't appear to be regular humans. They have empty looks, blood all over, and they are slow. If they were on drugs, wouldn't they be faster? Their speed seems to go like a regular walk to casual speed-walk. They all possess large wounds that look like savage animals ripped into their flesh. And wasn't Granny Davies (who by the way makes the BEST apple pie in the 'verse) busy being cannibal chow just a minute ago? Now, with gaping bite marks and spilling intestines she was walking around just like one of them. A crazy thought enters my mind. No, no and no. Zombies don't exist. But I can't deny the truth in front of me.

I run downstairs, where my mom stands, doe eyed and shaking. She is still in pajamas with wild brown hair. She nervously clutches a large meat cleaver. "Mom, is Dad home yet? Get away from the window, okay? We should get to higher ground in case they-"I attempt to warn her. "No he'll be home soon and we'll all get upstairs. You need to go call 911,"She hurriedly replies. "Mom, there is no way in hell that's happening, okay? You and I need to go find a way out of the house before they-." Suddenly she jumps. And rushes to the door. "MOM DON'T", I whisper, afraid of alerting the monsters outside. I have to stop her before she lets in a swarm of cannibals-okay zombies-inside our house. "It's him", she cries. "We have to let him in." She twists the knob and is immediately tackled by my "father". He looks the same, but with gaping gunshot wounds and bite marks all over, and blood coats just about everything.

His glazed-over orbs lock on Mom's throat, as well as his teeth. My mother's struggling pink bunny slippered feet kick at and slam the door in front of her. Thank God, because what happens next freezes me, and more zombies would have gotten in. The thing that used to be my dad tears out with her throat with no time to lose. Her blood and his own black ichor spray into the air, splashing my face and t-shirt. She starts a scream, but it fades quickly as he destroys her vocal box with yellowed teeth. Suddenly, a voice in the back of my mind is screaming for me to _kill it! What are you waiting for! Find a weapon._ _NOW!_ I eye the meat cleaver lying in a growing pool of blood, on the ground next to my mother's body as she goes limp. I grasp the metal hilt and begin to hack at my former father's skull, again and again. Eventually, he stops moving after I can't recognize his face. It felt good to sink the blade into his head, have vengeance for my mother's murder. Suddenly, I know what's going to happen next.

I hear my mother's reanimated corpse push itself of the ground and stumble towards at me, as blood and black ichor drip down the entirety of her bedtime ensemble. I look at her one last time with love and thankfulness to the woman who raised me, "Thank you." I say one last time, quietly. But there is no point. She is already gone. I sink the blade into her eye socket, the momentum carrying both of us downwards. I stand up before she can munch on my wrist, and stomp the blade farther down into her cranium, ending her tenure as an awoken cadaver. I search my father for his keys, and then go upstairs to retrieve his Glock 17, several boxes of 9mm bullets, a few spare fully loaded clips, holster, a small knife sharper, and a black Buck Bantam folding knife. I gather a dozen bottles of water and cans of food, along with matches and a fire poker. I take some batteries, an extra change of clothes, my favorite books, and various other survival gear.

I suddenly remember with a cringe, the book lying in my brother's room untouched since… well you know. Not really. i argue with myself, but eventually i decide its for the bestI hesitantly enter his room, with a sense of deep foreboding. Immediately, memories flood my mind, and the feel of his blond-highlighted hair vividly flashes across my field of vision and the smell of lemons and limes invades my nostrils. That's why Eris has a thick band of cobalt-blue in her bangs. For him. I practically sprint to his drawer before the his laughter starts to ring in my ears, and take out his battered copy of The Zombie Survival Guide, staring at the crossed M1 Carbine and machete on the cover, along with a single aged wood chip embedded on the front, that matches the wood on our old balcony. I run out of the that living nightmare and close the squeaky door, not wanting to disturb his ghost anymore. After I have everything prepared, I slip on a black beanie, scrub off my remaining makeup, and cautiously head out to the SUV, keys and Glock 17 in hand, with the intention of finding my best friend in this hellish new world.

HOW TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD AND ITS RIGHTS GO TO HARPER LEE

NEXT TIME ON: UNBROKEN, NOT UNDEAD

_The sound of breaking glass filled her ears, along with the death of one of the few people she ever loved._

_The silver barrel of a snub-nosed revolver was pointed right in between my eyes._

"_I will kill you."_

"_I'll do the same."_

"_Oh my god, what happened?"_

_The shotgun shells slipped from his hands, and then __the monsters came to claim him as their prey._


	2. Trauma

Eris' POV

"I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN," I whisper-screamed to Jay. "I knewwwww it..." He sighs and runs his hand through his orange-colored hair. "Okay, okay. You did tell me that zombies would take over the earth, but back then it was impossible, I was being realistic," He tells me, with his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets with anger.

Hmph. I actually just saw that through the bathroom window. Basically, this hoe from our school (Sarah Mello) was running way from a particularly ugly zombie, which is not easy to do in pumps. It seems to be a lady hobo with gray locks crusted over with blood, probably someone else's. Its hands are dangling from loose flaps of skin as it staggers towards her. She falls over nothing really, and her already _way _too mini-skirt lifts up, as she screams hysterically for about ten seconds on the ground until the zombie actually falls on her and goes directly for her face, causing a river of wet mascara, tears and blood to burst onto the pavement. Her new nose-job, along with a single eyeball, is torn out, and her cries of terror subside to light moans. (That's what she does best *wink wink*) I am not fazed or upset by this in the slightest. I suppose it doesn't matter now.

I turn to look at my brother again. We can _definitely _make it through this, and get to the top. I know it. He and I have already been through so much together. After all, he raised me at the age of 16, after our parents died in a tsunami on the coast of Morocco during their second honeymoon. He worked 3 jobs to get food on the table, pay the taxes, and keep me in school. He dropped out of his senior year, instead choosing to earn a GED. He went to community college for a year, takes online classes, and got an occupation in an office at a big corporation building.

Me? Well, I know I'm smart, but school doesn't matter that much to me. I'm kind of a free spirit. After my parent's passed away, I took up marijuana and alcohol. Fell in with the wrong crown. But my real friends got me out of _that_ black hole. I am forever grateful to Eva and Evan. We always joked about how they would get together until-"Listen, little sis. We need to head upstairs before those creepy-crawlies break in here." Jay advises me.

He reaches into the closet and pulls out our Remington 870 Wingmaster shotgun. He pulls the pump back, and begins loading in 12-gauge shells. "Okay? We head upstairs and wait until this all blows over." How dare he! I am capable of taking care of myself. I have certainly been in a few fistfights, even in Principal Ferguson's office. I always won 'em. And every time I ended up in Ferguson's office. However, I know this will _certainly _be different. So I make myself useful, and barricade the house up a bit more. I take a crowbar from dad's toolbox, labeled Best Dad Ever. I find a sheath for it and attach that to my belt, and stick the crowbar there.

When I come back, he notifies me of another problem, "You need to change. That doesn't even qualify as a shirt." I look at my crop-top, which rides up enough to reveal my bellybutton and pale skin. I have cutoffs and flip-flops on me. He's right. I rush upstairs, and observe my wardrobe. After a few minutes, a large pile of various clothes lies there. I stand, wearing a black hoody with a thermal shirt, leggings, and hiking boots. The full-length mirror near my door is framed with pictures of me, Eva, and Morse.

They'll find a way to survive. They _were _taught by the best. Suddenly, screams sound from below. I run to my brother. The window behind my sibling had shattered, allowing half a dozen zombies to collapse inside, and grab my brother. The shotgun shells slipped out of his hands, and then the monsters came to claim him. The sound of breaking glass filled my ears, along with the death of one of the few people I had ever loved. Jay's last words were, "Go." Then several pairs of jaws clamped down hard, and ripped his jugular out. The only sounds were the blood splashing on the ground, and his slight groans of my brother, no, my _father_. The one who had cared for and loved me.

He bought me dozens of gifts on Christmas when we still hadn't paid the water or electricity bills. My throat closes, and tears fill my eyes. He looks at me, silently screaming for me to _go._ I nod. He smiles a cheeky grin, all freckles and straight teeth. The he goes limp. I grab the Remington, a bag full of shotgun slugs Jay had been filling up. The shambling cadavers, drop his body, like trash, meaningless to them, just another meal. My vision goes red. A roar rose inside my throat. I raise the shotgun, and focus the small sphere at the end of the long black barrel on one of the zombie's forehead.

My hand grips the cherrywood pump. I take a breath, and aim for the head. Wait, what the hell am I doing! I need to go. Instantly, my bloodlust fades, and I bolt for the bathroom window, but look back at my brother's killers. I may not destroy them now, but I vow that I will slaughter them, for Jay and countless others already dead, and the ones dying and soon to be. _I will_, I promise them, knowing that none of them can hear. I throw the bag out the window. I'm barely heading down the makeshift ladder made of old oak wood, from our treehouse leaning on our own house(thank you Jay) when I see the delivery truck with a sombrero-topped dancing taco labeled _Teo's Tacos _rams into my former home. Collapsing the entire house and causing a large explosion that blasts me into oblivion.

...

I wake to the ashes falling over me like deadly snow. It's almost peaceful lying in layers of destruction. Then I remember. My bother's body going limp. The taco truck ramming the house. I sit up and am shocked by my surroundings. The house burns gently, bricks and random pieces of furniture are scattered everywhere. The smoke fills the air, and my lungs. I sit up fluttering my hands to dispel the cloud of fumes a round me. I gather what I can from the ruins.

My bag is sitting on the remains of the dancing taco. The shotgun lays untouched a few yards away on our old sofa, which isn't much more than a charred piece of stuffing and shorn cushions. My clothes are unharmed. I grasp my crowbar nervously as I hear a few pitiful moans. I am drawn to my brother's site of death like a moth to flame. And I am nearly incinerated. All that's left of his body is a torso arms, head, and a single lock of carrot-top hair. In the midst of all the black and gray, it seems absurd, like a child drawing a green moon on a 1st-grade portrait of a starry night.

I sling my shotgun over the shoulder. And pull my crowbar, and jam it into the back of his head, so his face will not be anymore disfigured than it already has been. I lean down and take a single picture of a broken family out of a tattered frame: mine. Suddenly, I hear more moans of the undead, the fire has started rage a lot more. The heat has increased considerably, and a few dozen creepers begin to approach. I look at the picture again. My brother, my mom and dad, me and Jay's girlfriend Astrid. God knows what happened to her. I haven't seen her since 2 days ago, when we went out to eat at a fancy restaurant. We all look so happy and content. Two things I doubt I will ever be again. I pocket it, along with a few shogun shells. I quickly run from what will undoubtedly be the site of my nightmares tonight, if I can even go to sleep.

...

I have been wandering at the edge of town for a couple hours, hoping to find a path to Eva's house. Plumes of fire and the smell of smoke, along with the scent of rotten flesh have blocked my sense of smell entirely. In the distance, soldiers are combating behind large, cam-green trucks, and sanbag barriers topped with barbed wire, but are eventually overrun by a horde of zombies. Even their M4A1 assault rifles and M60 machine guns, along with Heckler and Koch FP6 pump-action shotguns, and various other heavy weaponry cannot halt the advance of these monsters.

I shake my head in disgust. I turn and see a dozen or so zombies heading my way. They appear new-ish.I yelp and run for the nearest building, a diner. It's locked, but I manage to bust it open with some hard kicks. I run inside, and slam the door and shove a chair against the knob. It won't last long, but it should do for now. Suddenly, I hear the sound of a hammer being cocked.

"Turn around slowly, or I'll blow your brains out," a female voice commands. I do begin to do so, but she adds with, "I will kill you." "I'll do the same." I reply coolly, ducking down and kicking the girl's legs out from under her. I whip out my 870, and pull back the pump. Now I get a glimpse of her. Coffee-brown skin. A steady hand gripping a Smith & Wesson 66 featuring pachmayr grips. Curly raven hair. A stained claw hammer stuck through her belt. Black cutoffs and a purple hoody with a blazing fox emblem. We both gasp.

"Astrid…"

Eva's POV

I pull up to the sight of a burning two-story. I see Jay's formerly reanimated corpse lying on the ground, almost entirely burned to nothingness. He was like-no is- my older brother. But she isn't here. She is long gone. Zombies are swarming at the residence, probably attracted by the Heat and flame. A single blackened skeleton of a taco truck lies where the living room was. "Oh my god, what happened?"

_NEXT TIME ON: UNBROKEN NOT UNDEAD_

"_LEAVE THIS PLACE. NOW!"_

_The zombie slams into the window shield, cracking it a thousand times over._

_I know her but something seems off. I don't trust her and won't hesitate to kill her. _

_Especially if she gives me any more reasons._

_Time to find them both._


End file.
